


Getting Hitched Up

by RedChucks



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fingering, Howard and the Hitcher getting it on in a rather graphic manner, M/M, Other, Rimming, Well here is the monster fucking!, all the sex, butt plug insertion, coercion maybe, some of you wanted monster fucking!, thumbing, um quite passionate love making shall we say?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 00:49:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19188541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedChucks/pseuds/RedChucks
Summary: Howard needs to stop falling for the first person to show him the slightest bit of affection. But what if that person is the Hitcher and the affection he's showing is genuine?Yep, that's my premise for this fic. The Hitcher wants Howard because he's heard interesting things from his other monster pals and wants in on the action. Howard meanwhile, is Howard, and therefore willing to do just about anything if he's offered even a smidgen of praise. He also has a very narrow view of what counts as far as having or losing his virginity. The Hitcher straight, or not, as the case may be.Please don't read if you don't want to read about Howard getting it on with the Hitcher.(Written for the Bringing Back the Boosh NSFW prompt because it doesn't get much more NSFW than this!)





	Getting Hitched Up

A bell chimed with the promise of an odd new beginning as the scene faded from black to the vibrantly washed colour of the Nabootique, showing the clock with its hands at five minutes past six, and Howard Moon behind the counter, trilby hat pulled low over his face as he struggled to balance the till. He was entirely alone, though he didn’t know why, and anyone else would have realised that Howard Moon left alone after dark was a bad omen and told him to run for the hills. But there was no one else there, because Howard was alone, so there was no one to warn him. And besides, as you may already have guessed, it was already too late, the bell had already chimed.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” Howard huffed, losing track of the fivers he’d been counting and resolutely starting again. “Read the sign and come back tomorrow. Vince Noir’s working hours are listed as 12-2 and no, I don’t know where he is right now. Goodnight.”

Howard hadn’t bothered to look up at the sound of the bell. He was off the clock, his customer service persona had retired for the evening, and he couldn’t wait to join it upstairs in front of the T.V., alone and undisturbed by the brainless ninnies that populated the neighbourhood and made up the majority of their customers. He rattled off the words he’d long memorised for dealing with idiots who couldn’t read the word ‘Closed’ on a shop door and carried on counting up the day’s takings, waiting for the bell to sound again to let him know the Nabootique was once again empty, the way he liked it. But the tinkle of the bell didn’t come.

Instead he heard a low, grisly sounding chuckle, followed by the rumbling of thunder and the sudden sound of rain falling fast and without warning. Howard would have sworn that the sky had been clear only minutes before, when he’d gone out to pull the shutters down over the windows. 

He looked up, forgetting that he wouldn’t be able to see the rain due to the shutters and blinds being down but forgot those facts entirely, and the existence of the rain, when his searching eyes were met with the sight of the black coated, red trousered, top hatted Hitcher. In an instant the chokes had taken hold, cracking through his muscles and bones until he couldn’t move even to blink.

But even if his body was frozen his mind was the opposite and within his head it was screaming hysterically and Howard wanted to slap it, except that he couldn’t, so tried to focus on the details of the scene instead, to ground himself and at the same time seperate himself from the nightmare that had just walked through the door of his workplace.

His clothing seemed tighter than Howard remembered, the trousers hugging what appeared to be a pair of very powerful thighs and showing off an impressive bulge that made Howard whimper.

“Please...” he stammered. “Please don’t... don’t kill me or rape me and then kill me and dump my corpse in the canal.”

He expected the villain to grin and lunge at him, he expected the worst, but instead the green man frowned and cocked his head in a quiet and considering fashion. The thing Howard had learned about the Hitcher over the years (besides the fact that he was a terrifying nightmare being brimming with dark magic and unspeakable violence) was that he was, at his core, incredibly inconsistent. His face was never the same twice, even if the changes were subtle; his occupation varied without explanation, as did his history, his home planet, and the size of his thumb, and he never seemed to remember who Howard was no matter how often they met, though that wasn’t a trait confined just to him. Still, the Hitcher didn’t make sense, he was confusing, and the confusion scared Howard more than anything else, and his fear was rising fast as he watched the villain lock the front door and turn back toward him slowly.

“Oh no, boy,” the Hitcher chuckled, strutting forward as Howard backed up, the glint in his blue eyes devilish and promising. “I ain’t gonna rape you. Do I look like a minty nightmare?” Howard opened his mouth to answer but squealed instead when his back hit the shelves behind the counter and he realised that he was trapped, and that the Hitcher was fast descending upon him. The green man laughed again as he stepped nimbly around the counter and in to Howard’s space, suddenly filling his vision, his nose tracing the line of Howard’s jaw, as sharp and terrifying as any blade. “Well, maybe I do look like a bit of a penny dreadful, but I’m not an unreasonable man. And I’ve heard such good things about ya, boy. I’ve watched ya so long. It’s sent the blood running through my old veins like it ain’t done since I was a young nonce meself. And I has tried, boy. I has tried to get those tiny peepers to rest upon me and no other.” 

Howard felt his confusion turn to alarm at that, for surely that had never happened. The Hitcher had never showed that kind of interest in him! The manwitch however seemed to read the thought in his eyes and brought his hands forward to rest on the shelves on either side of Howard’s hips, locking him in place and causing the figurines and objet d’art to wobble behind him. 

“Has I not, boy?” he asked. “Did I not strip down to me all together on not one but two occasions just to draw a lusty Gaze from you? Did I not send you inside my own mind to create us a custom made fantasy? We came so close to the kiss, boy, but you wouldn’t go through with it, would ya? Not when you were so fearful about your own self and your little fairy boy.” He thrust forward, pushing his hips, and his bulging groin, right against Howard’s poor confused body. “Oh no, son,” he whispered, his teeth nipping at Howard’s ear between words as Howard began to fidget and pant. “I ain’t gonna rape ya. I’m gonna woo ya and make ya want it. I’m gonna make ya want me the way I been wanting you!”

Oh god, Howard thought as his ear was assaulted by yellowing teeth and the lithe, ancient body began to grind against him in earnest. It was like his run in with Charlie all over again. 

He shuddered as the Hitcher began to kiss and bite his throat, recalling what had happened after he’d admitted, drunkenly, one night, that there was something alluring- primal -about Charlie the Bubblegum monster. He’d said it to Vince, blustering and blushing his way through the explanation, admitting that he could see now, having actually seen Charlie in action, rampaging through the zoo and covering his enemies in thick strings of warm bubblegum slime, how Charlie might be considered very... sexy. Vince had laughed of course, and threatened to tell Charlie that Howard fancied him, but Vince was asleep within the hour (he’d had half a beer which was way past his limit) and Howard had stumbled to his bunk worry free and pleasantly drunk.  

He’d woken up a few hours later only to find that the the pink, bubblegum Thing had ... appeared in the Keepers Hut, had absorbed him in to itself at some point during the night, and was having its way with him in the most unthought of fashion. At first, Howard was forced to admit, it had felt rather nice, being surrounded by the warm squishiness, the pulsating, comforting softness all around him - like being back in the womb - until he had felt that pulsing warmth sliding between his poor buttocks. Things had gotten rather intense after that, and a lot less soft.

He’d tried to call for help, he swore he had, even if it sounded much more like: “Oh god, yes please!” and had been swiftly muffled by a rather phallic shaped bubblegum tendril entering his mouth. He’d refused to admit, even to himself, that he had enjoyed it, loved it in fact, but even as he’d been brought to orgasm (repeatedly) he’d felt an intense feeling of hot shame that he had never quite been able to shake. His only consolation was that no one else had ever known about the night that Howard has become a living sex toy for an unnaturally large, anthropomorphised, piece of bubblegum. Or so he thought.

Now he wondered whether Charlie had let it slip to some of his monster buddies, and whether that was the reason for Howard’s apparent popularity with the most terrifying creatures the universe had to offer. He’d met quite a few monsters over the years but the Hitcher was by far the one that scared him the most. He was human, or at least human shaped, but his mind and his soul were monstrous, and Howard didn’t want to think about what the terrifying green spectre had in store for him even if he was currently being quite gentle and had promised Howard an evening to remember.

His cock twitched at the thought of what that evening might entail even as his brain was still refusing to think about it and he cursed it for a traitor, but before he could do much else the manwitch was upon him in earnest, responding to the demand of Howard’s wayward cock, his lips and teeth bruising Howard’s mouth until he ceded defeat and opened his lips for the eel-like tongue and eventually began to kiss back. 

He wanted it. He hated that he wanted it but he did. No one wanted him, no one ever wanted Howard Moon, except for the monsters, and the Hitcher had said he not only Wanted Howard, he wanted to woo him as well. There was little chance he would ever find himself in such a situation again, Howard’s brain reasoned carefully as the chokes eased and his lips began to move in a complimentary motion to the Hitcher’s. He needed to take what he could get. He’d enjoyed what Charlie had done with him (eventually) and his body was already responding to the strong hard torso pressed against his, and the tongue delving in to his mouth - and the hand that suddenly delved in to his trousers!

When had his belt been unbuckled? When had his flies been violently ripped open? Howard had no idea but he no longer cared. He was being ravished and all he could do was moan as a short fingered but powerful hand began to squeeze and paw at his groin, pulling at his balls none too gently and tugging at his now desperate cock.

“I’m gonna make you cum so hard,” the Hitcher growled, biting Howard’s lip with lust that bordered on violence. “Gonna make you see stars, boy. Gonna make you beg. Gonna make you mine!”

“Oh- okay,” Howard whimpered, his voice thin and high. His hands cramping as he gripped the shelves, his body thrumming and tense, his head thrown back and his trilby slipping down over his eyes. Unable to see the dry white hair and shining green skin actually made it easier to relax in to the sensations, the hand massaging his balls, the tongue licking up and down his neck, the hot bulge pressing against his thigh. He’d never realised that the Hitcher was shorter than he was. Even with the heels on his boots he was only as tall as Vince was in his everyday Chelsea boots. In fact, with his eyes covered, feeling the angle of the man’s chin and nose, he could almost believe...

“Gonna top you like a cork in a bottle,” the Hitcher growled between licks, destroying Howard’s fantasy that he was with someone other than a cockney nut job who’d tried to kill him on multiple occasions. “Gonna ram you like the little heifer you are. Gonna make ya squeal, boy! Gonna give you such pleasure, boy, until ya beg me to do it again and again. Gonna make ya love me, Howard... T... J... Moon.”

Howard shuddered. He’d never heard anyone say his name like that, with such strength, such meaning, and he let out a moan as he widened his legs and surrendered to whatever the Hitcher wanted to do to him. The manwitch had already locked him in a box, pissed on his face, threatened to kill him so many times, and seduced him under false pretenses before, what more could the creature do to him?

Give him pleasure was the apparent answer and his hips convulsed as the Hitcher pushed his trousers and pants roughly down his thighs, tugging and twisting his balls until he wanted to pull back from the sensation, and push in to it at the same time. He should have known that the Hitcher’s idea of wooing wouldn’t include roses or romantic walks or hand written poetry but at the same time he couldn’t complain, his skin was on fire and his legs could barely take his weight. 

The Hitcher was manipulating his delicate plums with bruising force, merciless in his ministrations, and his lips returned to Howard’s with a force that he couldn’t hope to fight against. It was always like this, had been with Charlie, with the Ape of Death, with Gregg, with Precious, with Eleanor... with that tree that had tracked him down on Xooberon whilst Naboo and Bollo were trying to get the carpet started and Vince was chatting up the king. Howard shuddered, that particular encounter had been fast and rough and not particularly pleasant, and Howard wasn’t even entirely sure what they’d done. 

“Please be gentle,” he gasped,  squirming uncontrollably as green fingers began to prod and rub against his perineum, forcing sparks through his balls and up to his prostate. “I’m a vir- I’m still a vir...”

Another dark chuckle overwhelmed him, followed by a harsh bite to his neck that made Howard keen and buck. 

“A virgin are we, boy?” the Hitcher laughed darkly. “That’s not what I’ve heard but if that’s what you’ve been telling yourself, well that’s peachy by me. Nothing I love more than popping a ponce’s cherry. And I’ve been craving yours for years now. So don’t you worry, Howard Moon, Old Hitcher’s got ya, and there won’t be even a trace of the virgin left when I’m done with ya.”

Howard could only nod as suddenly the Hitcher was sliding one green hand down his body, ripping his shirt open and stripping Howard with unnatural and magically aided dexterity, and sliding himself down as well, until in an instant Howard found himself naked except for his trilby, his socks and his sandals with the Hitcher face to face with his manhood which seemed to show no signs of shrinking despite his renewed terror at being so vulnerable, and close to a mouth full of powerful, yellowing teeth. 

He was finally going to lose his virginity, he realised, his head spinning as the Hitcher’s hand returned to his cock, stoking hard and fast, with painful, delicious friction. He wasn’t sure what to expect, wasn’t sure how the process was supposed to go, but he believed the Hitcher when he said it. There had been times when he’d wondered about his virginity, and what constituted an official losing of it, but had felt somehow that sexual encounters with creatures made of bubblegum or wood or coconuts and bamboo almost certainly didn’t count. And his reading on the matter, while limited, led him to believe that his encounters with Gregg and Eleanor couldn’t count either, since he’d only used his hands and mouth and hadn’t even taken his clothes off and as for the Ape of Death... Howard couldn’t imagine that what had happened between them counted as s... se... as intercourse, even if several orgasms had been involved. Once again his clothes had been mostly left on and the Ape was, well, an ape. A man couldn’t lose his virginity to an ape.

But the Hitcher was something much closer to human and Howard’s clothes were gone and even as he was trying to process that he was finally going to be thoroughly deflowered by someone who Wanted to do so, his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden hot wet suction of the Hitcher’s mouth closing around the head of his cock. He moaned, feeling his legs tremble, but the Hitcher gave him no chance to adjust to the pleasure and shock, and began to bob his head at a steady pace, taking Howard’s length all the way down his throat and pushing his sharp nose against Howard’s pubic bone with each thrust. 

Howard could feel the pressure building, the rush of pleasure through every vein, boiling and building in his gut. His balls were trying to pull upwards and he could feel his orgasm coiling, but the Hitcher had no intention of letting him cum so easily. He began to pull on Howard’s balls, one moment massaging behind them, the next squeezing them tight enough to make him yelp. He wouldn’t be able to hold on, not at the rhythm the Hitcher had set, and so gave in, moving his hips in time with the lips and tongue until he gasped, laughing in relief as the wave of his orgasm  began to crest.

With a slurp the hot wet suction was gone, and Howard let out a strangled cry as his legs gave way and he landed on the floor behind the counter, pushing the hat up and out of his eyes to look at the green man grinning at him toothily, a wicked glint in his eye. He was already backing up, climbing to his feet and shucking his impressive coat. 

He glanced down at Howard’s feet meaningfully and Howard looked down with a gasp - his feet were now bare. He was completely naked now and the Hitcher had pulled an ornate bottle from the pocket of his waistcoat, a bottle that held a thick, yellow-green liquid that reminded Howard of olive oil: extra virgin olive oil. He shivered. He so wanted to lose his virginity, but the look in the eyes of the man above him gave him pause. His eyes, though bright and blue and familiar, were filled with malice and the promise of pain, and whilst Howard wasn’t adverse to physical pain, he didn’t want to leave himself open to mockery or humiliation. 

“I weren’t lying when I told you them legs of yours were strong and handsome, boy,” the Hitcher growled. “You’re the perfect treat, the perfect reward for me years of villainy. Don’t you worry, boy,” he grinned, kneeling back down and spreading Howard’s trembling legs wide, forcing Howard to support his weight on his elbows. “I love you, boy. I own you, boy. I ain’t going to break something that belongs to me now am I? Gonna make you squeal like a pig. You already know you enjoy it,” he added, pulling the stopper from the bottle and drizzling some over his thick green fingers. “Just relax and let your Old Hitcher make you love it.” 

Howard liked to believe he was an independent, straight thinking man, but deep down he couldn’t deny that he craved being told what to do, loved being told what to do, needed to be told what to do and how to think and feel. And as the Hitcher parted his cheeks and rubbed a greasy finger against his puckered hole he gave himself over. The Hitcher was telling him to relax. The Hitcher was telling him he would love it, and Howard couldn’t argue otherwise.

As the first finger pushed in to him Howard’s hands flew up to grab at the shelves behind his head, his back arching and thighs trembling. It was more real than Charlie’s bubblegum tendrils, less invasive than the evil tree’s gnarled tree branch fingers, and it seemed, to Howard, to be a perfect fit. He let himself get carried away in the movement of it, wondering at how and why the Hitcher should be preparing him with such care, but all too soon another finger had joined the first, stretching him wider but still seeming to be just what he needed and he began once again to move his hips in time to the thrusting green fingers, moaning loudly with each jab to his prostate.

A loud clap of thunder startled him and his eyes flew open. He hadn’t even recalled closing them, and he stared dazedly up at the shop ceiling, transfixed by the reflected green light from the display cabinet in the counter. The thunder seemed to have magnified the noises left behind in its wake and Howard was suddenly aware of his own uneven breathing, the rain smattering sharply against the windows, and the squelching coming from between his legs. It felt so good but it couldn’t be real. Every encounter he’d had in his life had held that same sense of unreality, as if even his own pleasure didn’t really belong to him, but when he looked down there was no denying the reality of the man between his legs, moving his arm in and out, grinning at him like a monkey signaling its intent to strike. 

“D’you like that, boy?” he muttered. “Like my fingers wriggling up inside ya? Exploring your most intimate parts? Tell me ya like it, boy. Tell me ya love it.”

He was thrusting faster as he spoke, only to stop suddenly to insert a third finger, grinning at the moan that was ripped from Howard’s throat at the intense burning pleasure. He whimpered as the Hitcher went back to his brutal pace, and then again when the manwitch’s other hand returned to the job of fondling his balls, moving them about like he was testing their weight and meant to juggle them. His cock was throbbing, curving so heavily it made him was to scream - or grab it as roughly as the Hitcher had grabbed his testes - but he wasn’t sure that such a move would be allowed. The Hitcher was relieving him of his virginity and Howard didn’t want to mess things up, didn’t want to get anything wrong. The Hitcher hadn’t told him he was allowed to touch himself, so Howard decided that the best thing to do was exactly what he had been told and the Hitcher had told him to talk.

“I like it,” he whispered, feeling sweat break out on his face and chest as the finger fucking and ball fondling continued. “I love it. Please... please...”

“You want me to fuck you, boy?” the Hitcher grunted, grinning down, his body thrusting as if he were already pounding in to Howard like he’d promised to do. “You want my thick green eel up inside ya, burrowing through your body, giving ya the pleasure ya been craving all ya life but won’t admit to?” 

Howard nodded frantically, squeezing his eyes shut. His chest was heaving and his shoulders and hands were cramping from holding on so tightly but he couldn’t deny that he wanted it. He wanted the pleasure, wanted the Hitcher, wanted the Hitcher for wanting him!

“Yes!” he wheezed breathily trying to focus on the words even though it seemed an impossible feat when every fibre of his being was focused on the pounding in his ass. He couldn’t imagine it getting any better but the Hitcher seemed to be promising him it would and that thought alone was pushing everything else from his mind. “Yes I want it. I want you!”

The Hitcher’s crow of triumph made him want to squirm away and hide but as the squeezing of his balls ceased and the fingers slithered out of his ass he found himself doing the opposite, squirming toward the retreating fingers, trying desperately to keep the blunt green digits inside him, feeling his cheeks burn at the wicked laughter he heard in response. 

“You want me?” came the hoarse, cockney whisper. “You really want me, boy?” He sounded almost giddy in his delight and Howard could only nod and sob, ashamed and desperate and needy, but despite how thrilled the Hitcher seemed with Howard’s submission he didn’t seem inclined to give either of them what they wanted just yet. “You want my eel, boy?” the witch whispered again, leaning over Howard to bite at his ear whilst his fingers tickled and teased and dipped in to Howard’s stretched and lube slicked hole. “Or perhaps you’d like a real eel up inside ya? One of me black wangers, me devil’s ticklers, worming its way through your desperate little body? Would you like that, boy?”

“No,” Howard shook his head, trying to tighten his already tightly shut eyes as his cock jumped at the thought of being so abused, hating himself for the jolt of pleasure the mere thought of it brought him. “No I want you!”

He tried to relax as the fingers removed themselves completely, preparing himself as best he could to finally lose his virginity, but instead of moving in to position over him the Hitcher grabbed his arms and hauled him upwards. His eyes flew open and he noted, as he was swung upwards, that the Hitcher was still mostly dressed, having only lost his coat, whilst Howard was down to nothing but his hat, which he adjusted nervously as the Hitcher began to run sticky fingers over his skin, tweaking his nipples hard enough to make Howard yelp and pinching the skin around his hips. 

“Such a ripe little peach, aren’t ya, boy?” he grinned, leaning in to lick another stripe up Howard’s neck with his long, pink tongue. “A proper sweet treat for Old Hitcher. So innocent of the ways of the world, so young of mind. Just how I likes ‘em.”

Howard was so overcome by the compliment, the implication that he was youthful, that the Hitcher thought of him as a boy when the rest of the world considered him a dried up and worthless old man, that he was barely aware of the way the Hitcher was manhandling him as they kissed. The tongue in his mouth reminded him of the eels he’d been threatened with, thrusting in so far that he thought he might choke, wondering why that thought didn’t worry him.

When the Hitcher bit his lip Howard felt his knees buckle, and a moment later they did when he was spun around and pushed face down onto the counter. The hard slap across his ass made him squeal but he couldn’t help but feel a deranged sort of pride at his reaction. Hadn’t the Hitcher promised to make him squeal like a pig? Hadn’t he told Howard that that was what he wanted? The slap was followed by a second, and then a third hard blow to his abused behind and the force pushed his hips forward, slamming his straining erection in to the counter. He was so aroused, so close to cumming, and with every slap the head of his cock smeared precome over the glass and made the next thrust forward easier and even more pleasurable.

“Tell me, boy,” the Hitcher grunted suddenly digging his fingers in to the red, inflamed flesh and kneading it, exposing Howard’s lubed up hole again and again, staring at it lustfully with his teeth clenched in truly wicked grin. “Did I ever tell ya about this thumb of mine?”

The pressure of the mighty thumb pushing in to him was almost too much, no matter how thoroughly the Hitcher’s other fingers had loosened him, and the burn of it, like a thousand self-inflicted Chinese burns, was too much for his mind to process. It felt too good. Within moments the heat of his orgasm had coiled tight in his belly, too tight to ignore, and he tried to warn the man responsible, but it was no good. The only noises he could make were moans and screams and the Hitcher was monologuing dramatically about his thumb, a different tale than the last time Howard had heard it, and couldn’t hear his cries. Shocks of electricity were racing up his spine from his coccyx to his skull, and exploding in showers of sparks behind his eyes, and as the monstrous thumb mashed against his prostate even harder than before, his orgasm ripped through him before he could hold it back, jolting his entire body over and over until he felt he had no more to give, his muscles straining and twitching, boiling over with pleasure that had already begun to slide toward pain.

“Oh yes, boy,” came the Hitcher’s growl in his ear. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” 

His elbow was pressed to Howard’s spine and his weight was enough to push the air from Howard’s wet and wheezing lungs, the lack of oxygen sending its own sparks across his vision, but he couldn’t seem to find it within himself to care about that because the Hitcher’s oversized thumb was still pounding away inside of him, moving fast and rough, the knuckle rubbing and stretching the sensitive flesh of his entrance. 

The Hitcher showed no sign of letting up, Howard could feel the hard press of his cock, still trapped within his trousers, as he humped against Howard’s backside, which only increased the force with which Howard was pushed against the counter, his cock rubbing against the glass, aided by the lubrication provided by his own rapidly cooling cum. There was no chance to come down from his orgasm, no chance to recover, and he felt his muscles continue to spasm long after they would have given up and settled down to sleep if this had been one of his usual bedtime wanks. 

The Hitcher’s yellow teeth sinking in to the flesh of his neck caused his back to arch and he felt the arousal building anew in his gut, a pool of warmth inside him, flowing out like soup from a broken bowl, through his body. He was reminded yet again of Charlie, how the pink monster had been unrelenting, fucking him for hours without a care for Howard’s exhaustion or how many times he’d already orgasmed, how oversensitive his body was, inside and out, and now the Hitcher seemed determined to do the same. 

He groaned low and deep when the thumb was finally pulled from his ass and the Hitcher moved away, removing his weight from  Howard’s back and standing behind him, but he didn’t let up on touching him. Howard didn’t have a good view but he could feel the man pushing and squeezing his cheeks again, parting them to leer at the raw skin and gaping hole, the evidence of his good work. He jumped when he heard the villain spit, and at the slimy splat of saliva against his opening, and gasped and squirmed when it happened again, confused by the feel of the slick liquid dribbling down to his testes. It felt too good and he found his hips moving, hoping for something more, sliding his cock against the sticky glass in front of him. 

“Feels good, don’t it, lad?” the Hitcher growled, chucking darkly as he spread Howard’s cheeks as far as they would go as Howard slipped and attempted to widen his stance to give the manwitch better access. He spat again and Howard’s hips snapped forward, making him moan with such desperation that he barely recognised his own voice, a moan which only increased in volume when the Hitcher slapped him hard. “None of that now, boy. Can’t let you be having all the fun. It’s time for you to earn ya keep, if ya get my meaning.”

Howard didn’t but the Hitcher grabbed his wrist, pulling his arm back from where it had been clinging to the counter and placing it where the Hitcher’s hand had been, squeezing his own ass and holding it open and exposed. When the rough hand caught his other wrist Howard was still clueless but when he felt lubricant being drizzled over his fingers, and then had them thrust in to his own stretched opening he thought he was beginning to understand.

“But-“ he whimpered, feeling his muscles tighten around his two fingers as the Hitcher pushed them deeper. “But I thought-“

His hand slowed when the Hitcher stepped back but when he tried to stop the hand returned to his wrist, the grip tight enough to hurt, and eventually Howard realised what the Hitcher wanted from him. He began to pump his fingers slowly in and out, trying to breathe and failing as the tight, fiery pleasure overtook him, warring with the shame as he imagined how he must look, fucking himself with his fingers and holding himself wide on display, panting and moaning as he put on a show for a man who up until an hour ago had topped Howard’s list of  frightening villains most likely to kill him and feed his body to mutant blackbird/raven hybrids. 

When the Hitcher stepped back he didn’t stop, not even when he heard footsteps round the counter and felt a shadow fall across his naked back. He was just too turned on to care. The sound of a zip was what finally caught his attention and he glanced up awkwardly to see that the Hitcher was now naked above the waist, and had released his very erect, very large, green cock from his trousers, and was stroking it lazily as he looked down at Howard with an expression of deep lust and slightly unhinged delight.

Howard for his part was entirely focused on the monstrous green member in front of him, hypnotised by the stubby green fingers stroking up and down, the darker green of the foreskin, the pale mint green of the head, the copious precome the unnatural manwitch was spreading over it, squelching it between his fingers and drawing ever closer to Howard’s face, until he could almost taste it. His mouth was watering, his fingers losing their rhyme as he became more entranced by the cock in front of him, staring at him like a promise.

It was a relief when the Hitcher took Howard’s chin between his fingers and forced it upwards, even if the angle was awkward, even if his back spasmed and didn’t want to comply, because suddenly he had a mouth full of green cockney cock and his overwhelmed mind couldn’t think of anything he wanted in his mouth more. He released his buttock and brought his arm forward to prop himself up, the fingers of the other hand still lodged firmly inside his ass, his need transferring from the throbbing in his prostate to the thirst in his throat. 

“That’s it, boy,” the Hitcher crooned, pulling the hat from Howard’s head to card his filthy hands through the lank curls, guiding his cock in and out of Howard’s willing mouth, pumping his hips shallowly as he offered encouragement, licking his stained teeth in delight. “That’s right, boy! You take it so well, boy, like they said you would. Poppin’ that cherry of yours in so many ways tonight, aren’t we, lad? Oh, ya doing so well, takin’ it so well!” he grunted, tugging on Howard’s hair just enough to make him whine. “Such a good boy. So clever. I love you, boy. Oh yes! I’m gonna take such good care of you, Howard Moon. Oh! Takin’ me green meat like a natural, boy. Get your Old Hitcher ready for ya, boy, that’s it. Wet me up!” 

Howard felt his cock jolt back to full attention at the praise, lapping up the compliments as he lapped up the salty precome, straining his muscles to do just what the Hitcher wanted while his hand recalled its own duty and began to pump his fingers with more enthusiasm. The Hitcher wanted him to get them ready, he wanted to finally fuck him properly. He was finally going to lose his virginity, and to someone who genuinely wanted him as well.

Howard didn’t have a lot of experience with men’s genitalia but he’d seen a few (Bob Fossil’s and Montgomery Flange’s to name just two) and could safely say that the Hitcher was larger than average, and he gagged and choked as he tried to spread saliva down the full length, trying to do as he was told and prepare the Hitcher properly. He hadn’t thought he would enjoy it, and there was a certain saltiness that put him in mind of Old Gregg’s blinding downstairs mixup, and a mustiness that brought to mind his encounter with Eleanor, but it was far from the worst thing he’d had in his mouth, even if he jaw ached at the size of it, and the Hitcher was being so encouraging, almost gentle as he tangled his hand in Howard’s hair and stroked his cheek with his oversized thumb. As long as he didn’t think about where that thumb had only just been, he thought, the sensation was actually very calming, but once he’d had the thought he couldn’t forget that the thumb currently rubbing against his moustache had only minutes before been pumping in to his ass hard enough to bring him to orgasm. 

The thought made him moan around the large cock in his mouth and the Hitcher gasped and pushed in to his mouth deeper, grabbing at Howard’s hair with more force, and for a moment Howard thought the manwitch was about to cum in his mouth, but he didn’t, and Howard felt strangely disappointed as the Hitcher stepped back and his head was dropped, leaving him panting and desperate for more.

He was slapped lightly across the cheek and the impact left him strangely disoriented. Even after blinking several times he couldn’t quite comprehend the change in his view until he realised that his watering eyes were looking out at the shop and the locked door, and not at the Hitcher’s beautiful cock. He whimpered, wondering if it had all been a dream, or a cruel joke to make him fall for a villain only to be left hanging at the crucial moment, vulnerable and exposed because surely that was more likely than such a man coming to him and confessing his attraction wasn’t it? No one wanted Howard Moon, no one was interested in being with him, no one cared about what he wanted or needed or-

The slap across his ass a second later made his muscles and fat jiggle like jelly but Howard didn’t scream. The sound he made was guttural and relieved; the Hitcher was still there and the promise of a fucking was still on offer. As short fingers closed around his wrist again Howard tried to redouble his efforts in fucking himself, to show that he was a good boy, an obedient boy, but his fingers were tugged out and he whined at the loss, pressing his face down against the heated glass, green light shining up at him even through his closed eyelids, penetrating even the darkest corners of his mind.

“Are you ready, boy? Show me that you’re ready, boy,” the Hitcher crooned behind him, grabbing Howard’s other wrist and positioning his hands back on his ass cheeks and Howard obediently held himself open, desperate to show that he was indeed ready, more than ready for what was coming, to lose his virginity to an almost human lover. “Ooooh yes,” the Hitcher chuckled, “so ready for me sausage and mash, ain’t ya boy? Tell me, lad, do ya love me yet?”

“Yes!” Howard gasped, his fingers digging in to his own flesh hard enough to bruise. He could feel the Hitcher’s breath against his lube slicked skin and knew he would say anything to convince the manwitch to continue. More than that, he knew in heart and mind that it was true. Despite Vince’s warnings that Howard couldn’t keep falling in love with anyone who showed him the slightest affection, he knew that he had fallen for the Hitcher. After all, the man wielded dark magic and was physically stronger than Howard, he could have trapped him and forced him, but he hadn’t, and to Howard that was the greatest form of flattery; that someone had taken to the time to consider his feelings and make him feel so good. The least he could do was reciprocate, and his mind raced as he tried to recall what the Hitcher had wanted from him in return. “Please,” he gasped, as the Hitcher deliberately blew against his arsehole, sending shivers along his spine. “I’m begging you, take me, make me yours, ruin me, please! Please just fuck me!”

“Oh I will, lad,” the Hitcher promised, his voice hoarse with excitement. “Don’t you worry about that. Gonna make you mine. Gonna make you scream! But first... just a little taste...”

Howard bucked as that long, muscular tongue delved in to his open arse, squealing and gasping helplessly as he was assaulted with lips and teeth, kissed in a way he had never imagined, opened up and explored and owned in a manner he hadn’t thought possible. He was thrashing about like a fish on a hook, his cock smacking against the counter as he moved, trying to respond, to participate in what the Hitcher was doing to him. Instead he felt entirely helpless. 

He shuddered as the Hitcher kissed his way up along the crack of his arse and screamed again when yellow teeth bit down in to the soft, dimpled flesh at the base of his spine, sucking a fierce love bite in to existence. Howard was marked now, and it sent a thrill of pleasure through his body despite the pain it caused.

At the feel of the Hitcher’s large cock against this entrance Howard began to shake and he tried to angle his hips invitingly but the Hitcher only laughed, a deep, wicked chuckle that promised so much, and carried on rubbing himself around and around the delicate, over-sensitive skin until Howard thought he would go mad.

He heard himself sob when the delicious friction suddenly stopped but the Hitcher only laughed again and manhandled him upwards, off of the counter and downwards, back on to the cold floor, on to his back, completely at the mercy of the green man above him. 

This was better, he thought, even as he shivered and wondered what to do with his hands. This way he could watch as the Hitcher moved in to position, his muscles rippling under green skin, his impressive cock jutting out above Howard’s as he settled between his thighs. He lifted Howard’s backside in to position, the head of his cock once again teasing and prodding as if it had a mind and will of its own, and Howard braced his arms against the floor as his legs were spread wide.

He had expected the Hitcher to push in fast. For all his talk of making Howard want it, of showing him a good time, he had expected him to go in hard and fast one the sex actually began, but instead he pushed in to Howard achingly slowly, an act far more torturous than anything else he could have done, and Howard’s moan was long and drawn out as he felt every inch pushing inside him, stretching him to his very limit.

Even the Hitcher’s oversized thumb hadn’t been enough to prepare Howard for the girth of his cock, or his eel, as he called it as he pushed in, muttering and grunting and encouraging Howard to take it all, to feel it, to really feel what it was like to be claimed and owned. A tiny spark in the back of Howard’s brain tried to argue that no one could own Howard T. J. Moon, that he was his own man, yes sir, but Howard knew that was a lie. He was never happier than when he was being told what to do and punished for his failures, he had just never been brave enough to admit it before. 

After a minute that seemed more like an eternity the Hitcher let out a moan that brought Howard’s eyes back in focus and he looked down the length of his body to see that the Hitcher was now fully seated within him, holding his legs behind each knee in order to completely control what would happen next. Howard watched as the green man began to thrust, shallowly at first, using Howard’s legs for leverage, and watched the thick cock drawing in and out of him, sending shocks through his body that made him twitch and squirm, unable to buck the way he wanted to in response to the restrained movements. He watched his own cock and balls flop from side to side in response to the building rhythm and reached a hand out touch himself, to participate in some way, to bring the aching desperate need that was building deep inside his body outward to the fore of his senses. But the Hitcher however had other ideas and stopped him with a look.

“You can touch them balls, boy,” he growled, pushing in a little deeper, “but that little twiglet belongs to me, ya hear? No one touches that little dickie but me, ya understand me?”

As if to demonstrate his point the Hitcher released one of Howard’s legs, leaving it to hang awkwardly in the air as he reached down to slap Howard’s cock. He thrust harder as he did so, finally giving Howard a taste of what it meant to be fucked in earnest. Howard threw his head back, stars bursting in front of his eyes as his skull hit the hard ground, not caring about the pain, too focussed on the way the Hitcher was now tugging his cock, pulling the foreskin forward roughly and slapping it about. It hurt yet it hurt so good and Howard sobbed when the hand was withdrawn, but a second later the Hitcher had grabbed up his leg again and had begun to thrust with greater speed and strength, plowing in to Howard’s loosened body.

“Do what I told ya, boy,” the Hitcher grunted, leaning in to hiss in Howard’s ear, bending him almost in half. “Squeeze those little dumplings o’ yours ‘til they pop!” Howard whimpered but complied, grabbing his balls and beginning to tug and pinch them but the Hitcher wasn’t done with his demands. “Don’t forget them little sow’s nipples, boy,” he ordered roughly. “You’ve got a free hand, don’t ya? Can’t be having your Old Hitcher doing all the work. Pinch them nipples, boy, before I think you’re bein’ ungrateful and stop.”

Howard’s hand flew to his chest immediately, desperate to show the Hitcher that he didn’t want to stop, that he was willing to do whatever his new lover wanted, and squealed again as his back slid on the cheap linoleum. With both hands occupied he had no leverage and no way to stop himself from sliding and moving about on the floor. He could already feel the friction burn forming on his back but couldn’t bring himself to care, not when the Hitcher was pounding in to him with such passion and abandon and seemed so pleased with what Howard was doing to his own body. 

He arched in to his own touch, pinching both his nipple and the skin of his scrotum as the Hitcher moaned above him, bending his knees up to his chest so that he could bite and chew at Howard’s neck. Howard could hear the slapping of the witch’s large ballsack against his ass but it sounded distant, outweighed by the moaning, the animalistic sounds coming from both of them, and the roaring of blood in his ears. 

“Please,” he whimpered. “Oh  please!” He was so close, so very close, but the urge to touch himself, to wrap his hand around his cock, was still so strong, and he whined pitifully, tugging his balls more forcefully as the Hitcher’s cockhead smashed in to his prostate again and again. “Please? Let me...”

“You want me to let you cum, boy?” the Hitcher huffed, turning to bite Howard’s shin as he fucked in to him without mercy. Howard nodded, suddenly aware that tears were leaking from his eyes as the pleasure began to overwhelm him entirely. “You want me to let you howl my name? Is that right? Well tell me, boy? Do ya love me, Howard T. J. Moon? Do ya love me like I love you? Cos I love you, boy! I love you!”

Howard hadn’t thought it possible but the Hitcher began to move his hips with even greater force, pushing Howard across the floor, until he was no longer hidden by the counter, his eyes falling upon the locked shop door. He was struck by sudden fear that Vince or Naboo would walk in, just when he actually wanted to be left alone, but the Hitcher’s words arrested his mind, reminding him for a moment of the time he had needed rescuing, of what he’d had to do to keep Old Gregg at bay, of being asked, “do you love me?” But this time he needed no further coercion to speak the truth.

“I love you,” he gasped as the Hitcher pushed his leg away in favour of yanking on Howard’s desperate, neglected cock. He screamed at the touch, bucking and thrashing about, his body racing toward relief as above him the Hitcher did the same. 

Suddenly above him the Hitcher howled, throwing his head back as he pumped in to Howard’s stretched and throbbing hole, cumming and cumming until the force of his thrusts sent Howard tumbling over the edge of his own orgasm, gasping and spluttering as his own spunk hit his cheek and lip, dribbling down his chin and along his neck. 

His body was buzzing and exhausted, shaking from the strain his muscles had been put through, but the Hitcher continued to move, his own orgasm taking much longer to recede, pushing Howard to breaking point. He was shocked by the sob that escaped his lips, but more so by the kisses the Hitcher began to press to his lips, tenderly, almost kindly. Out of every encounter of his life Howard had never come out the other side with so little shame. No matter that he was spread out on the floor of his workplace, sweating, shaking, covered in his own cum, filled to overflowing with green, glutenous manwitch seed, with the man himself still seated snugly inside him. He felt relieved, he felt free, he felt valued. 

He cried out as the Hitcher withdrew his cock, his muscles beginning to spasm and twitch painfully, but the Hitcher moved carefully, stroking Howard’s exhausted body and rolling him on to his side, kneading his red and bruising ass. Howard could only whimper when the Hitcher’s thumb dipped in to his stretched hole, pushing the cum that leaked out back in and then settling something else in to place there, a plug, Howard realised, as he groped blindly. 

“Now, now, boy,” the Hitcher admonished, his voice taking on a sadistic tone as he knocked Howard’s hand away. “That’s to stay put right there. I’m gonna look after you, boy, you get me? I love you, and I’m gonna take care of you, but that means doing what I say, you understand?”

Howard nodded, his eyes closing in exhaustion as the Hitcher chuckled and carried on massaging his sore, overworked muscles. He felt sleep overtake him, despite knowing that it was entirely impractical to fall asleep naked in such a public place, but he couldn’t help it, and a moment later, with a snap of the Hitcher’s fingers he realised he was clothed again, and that something was being placed over him, the Hitcher’s coat, wrapped around him like a blanket.

Panic overwhelmed him suddenly,  the fear that the whole night had been a dream, that he had not in fact been seduced and thoroughly ravished by an actual human being (almost). Feeling the plug shift as he tried to move sent a wave of relief through him so intense it made his head spin, the physical reminder of the encounter, that he’d actually lost his virginity properly, giving him a sense of completion and warmth. 

He was very nearly asleep when the Hitcher’s laughter drifted in to his mind, wicked and exposing. “You’re mine now, boy. I’ll be seeing you around.”

He heard the click of the lock and the chime of the bell, signaling the exit of the Nabootique’s one and only customer for the day, and the end of a very odd beginning.


End file.
